Moonstruck
by Celtictraveller
Summary: You don't need to be an astrologer to understand the influence of the moon. Hermione and Snape fall under it's influence. A series of moon-related one shots about their developing relationship. Snamione fluff! EWE, Non-canon DH. The number of chapters will depend on reviews and inspiration - ideas please. R&R. Rating now changed to T
1. Chapter 1: Sonata

Chapter 1: Sonata

The first time, he'd been taking the long way around to his office to avoid the herd of students leaving the Great Hall after dinner. He'd been drawn by the ebullient sounds drifting from the old music room and following the trail of notes, he found the door ajar. Not wanting to disturb the occupant, he gently eased it open; the pianist had her back to him, but he had no trouble recognising the slim, correct posture and unruly curls of his Charms Mistress. He hadn't suspected that the buttoned up, rule-bound Miss Granger was capable of such creative freedom, or of being so… _unfettered_. He slipped away before she noticed his presence, quietly humming to himself.

Over the following weeks, he learned that she often spent an hour in the music room after dinner, and he'd become her devoted audience of one. This evening he leant on the doorframe, captivated. He didn't recognise the melody – so he assumed it was a muggle composer - but it sent shivers down his spine. She was unaware of his presence and he wondered how she would react if she knew how often he had stood here, falling under a spell that he had no counter-curse for. He slowly crossed the room and noticed that her eyes were closed. Quietly he leant on the piano, enthralled by the music, and feeling a peculiar sense of loss as her hands stilled and the notes came to an end. She remained wherever it was that the music took her for a long moment before opening her eyes – and then shattered the quietude with an undignified squeal when she found herself under the scrutiny of the Headmaster. Her hands quickly rose to cover her mouth, stifling the sound.

'Where did you come from?' she gasped. 'How long have you been there?' The colour rose prettily in her cheeks. He smiled and she couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have detected a twinkle in his eyes.

'Miss Granger, I do apologise. I didn't mean to startle you but it seems you have more talents than are listed on your curriculum vitae – something I would hardly thought possible.' He assumed a serious expression. 'As Headmaster, I felt duty bound to investigate.'

She laughed, and it struck him that in her years as a student, it was a sound he had seldom heard, although that was hardly surprising. No one who had been in any way touched by those events had emerged unscathed, but the young witch, though scarred, was somehow not diminished by them.

'I didn't recognise that piece. What's it called?' he asked.

'Moonlight Sonata,' she replied. 'It was written over two hundred years ago by a muggle composer called Beethoven.'

'It's beautiful.' She wasn't sure if he was complementing her playing or the composition, and didn't know how to react. 'You don't have any music – you must know it very well.'

'It was one of my mother's favourites,' she explained. 'She taught me when I was young, and I've always loved it too. It reminds me of her; it makes me feel sad, but in a good way.' She gazed up at him for a moment. 'Do you know what I mean?' His eyes scanned her face, taking in the openness in her expression, and wondering when it was that he'd earned her confidence.

'Anyway, Professor, you don't want to hear all that,' she said lightly. 'I didn't know you were a music lover?'

'I'm a fan, but I never seem to have the time to indulge. I certainly don't have any discernible talent.'

'You don't play?' she asked. He shook his head. 'Would you like to learn? I could teach you.'

He got the feeling she hadn't really meant to make the offer – certainly didn't expect him to accept – but he found the idea curiously appealing; it was a long time since he'd studied a completely new discipline. He also had to admit to himself that he strangely warmed by the thought of the vivacious young woman taking on the role of his teacher. He had to confess that he wasn't immune to her bubbly enthusiasm.

'I'd be delighted, Professor Granger,' he said with a warm smile, as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, noting how pretty she was when she blushed.


	2. Chapter 2: Honesty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Chapter 2: Honesty

It was Saturday and the first Hogsmeade visit of the school year, so most of the students were away, and the school and grounds were blessedly quiet. With no classes to teach, Hermione was deep in concentration, pruning some of the more animated plants in Greenhouse Two as a favour to Pomona Sprout. One of the little gits, a particularly evasive _innocula tentacula_ , kept rearranging its foliage to keep its tender shoots away from the secateurs, but Hermione was nothing if not determined.

'What is our charms teacher doing in the greenhouses, I wonder?' The stern voice of the headmaster made her jump and the recalcitrant shrub took advantage her lapse in concentration to rustle irritably at her. He approached her, less intimidating than usual today without his teacher's robes billowing behind him. In fact, he looked almost _informal._ She tried the word out in her mind and couldn't seem to make it fit with her image of the formidable Severus Snape.

'Professor, do you make a habit of creeping up on everyone, or is it just me?' she attempted to cover her alarm with indignation. She doubted she had managed to pull it off, but a girl has to try.

'You know Pomona has everything counted, don't you?' A smile quirked his mouth, 'Besides, you won't find any lacewing fly in here.' Hermione blushed furiously, knowing he was referring to her illicit brewing of Polyjuice potion in her second year as a student. He knew, and she knew he knew, but as long as he couldn't prove it, she felt safe in continuing to deny liability.

'I have no idea what you're referring to, Professor,' she said stiffly. He smiled, but thankfully let it pass.

'So, what _are_ you up to?' There was definitely mischief in his eyes now, and she felt, not for the first time, that he was laughing at her. 'I don't recall herbology being a particular favourite subject of yours.'

'No, not really, but I do miss having a garden, and Pomona can sometimes do with the help,' she gestured expansively to take in the breadth of the greenhouse, and realised that she was effectively brandishing her secateurs in the headmaster's face. She quickly placed them beside the plant, which visibly relaxed, and clasped her hands behind her back. 'The arrangement works for both of us.

'So, is there something I can help you with, Professor?' she asked, anxious to move the conversation on, 'or do you need to speak to Pomona?'

'I'm just looking for a little honesty, Miss Granger,' he said.

Hermione's mind whirled and she experienced a moment or two of panic. Was he still talking about the Polyjuice potion, or did he not believe why she was here? What did it matter, she wasn't doing anything against the rules? Was she? Oh no, he'd called her _Miss_ Granger, not Professor Granger. That's how he'd referred to her when he was her teacher – and hated her. It must be the Polyjuice potion – deny everything!

'I'm sorry, Headmaster, you're going to have to be more specific,' she was aiming for casual, but knew that the heat in her face was betraying her.

'I thought I was.' Damn the man, he was unreadable. 'Honesty, Miss Granger. About this high,' he gestured with his hands, 'purple flowers, but it's the seed pods I want.'

'I'm sorry?' Hermione gaped at him – he'd completely derailed her thought process. If he had been talking fluent Russian he couldn't have made less sense to her.

'Whatever for?' he asked. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' Now she was sure that he was laughing at her. He rested his hands on the greenhouse bench and leant towards her.

'Honesty, Miss Granger,' his voice was low and had that hypnotic, almost seductive quality that had fascinated her since she'd been old enough to think in such terms. 'Honesty, also known as moonwort? Easily recognised by its silver disc-shaped seed pods. A potent ingredient in various healing potions, particularly for – fem-in-ine,' he slowly sounded out every syllable in the word, and Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, 'conditions'. He crooked his finger at her to draw her nearer, and said – almost whispered – as though he was imparting a great secret. 'Poppy needs some potions prepared to replenish her stores – it's a project for the fourth years.'

He maintained eye contact with her for a long moment, and then began to laugh.

'Oh, Miss Granger,' he chuckled, 'so many things have changed but you are still so earnest.'

Hermione was bemused; one of the things that had clearly changed was the once surly teacher who had tormented her in her school days, into this friendly open man who gently teased her. His laughter was a rich, infectious sound, and soon she was joining in.

'Professor, you're a terrible man,' she laughed. 'Anyway, I don't think I can help – I don't know where there is any.'

'Oh, I don't need help finding it – I know where it is. It's not in the greenhouses – it's in the gardens.'

So, what…' she began.

'I was letting Pomona know, as a courtesy, and to make sure that she didn't already have it allocated to some other use before I helped myself. I wasn't joking when I said Pomona has everything counted. After all, it wouldn't do for potions' ingredients to go missing, would it, and sadly, not all our students are as respectful of the rules as you were.' Yes, he was definitely laughing at her.

'Things _must_ be bad then, Professor' she said, with a completely straight face.

'Nothing a little honesty won't fix.' Oh, and Hermione,' he said, as he straightened to leave.

'Yes?' He reached over and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

'My name is Severus.' He smiled at her again, no mischief this time, only warmth. It was everything Hermione could do not to lean into his touch. He turned and left her wondering what had just happened. Her hand drifted to her temple, where his fingers had softly brushed against her.

'No. No, no, no,' she moaned to the plant, as she realised what she was feeling. 'Hermione Granger, you absolutely _cannot_ have a crush on your employer.'

The unfortunate plant moved again, as though in response. She turned her full attention back to it, determined to exercise control over something today.

'Right, I've had enough of you,' she said, lifting her secateurs again.


	3. Chapter 3: Punch Drunk

**A.N. Updates for this are a bit sporadic. It's a bit of light relief for me while working on my other story 'Bluer than Midnight' which has a lot more angst.**

 **Review and suggestions would be really appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Chapter 3: Punch Drunk

Severus Snape had always had a reputation as a loner, and would always choose a night in with a good book over socialising. Despite this, he knew that his students sometimes needed to let their hair down. What the students didn't appreciate is that the staff did too. Coming, as it did, half-way through the autumn term, Halloween was one of those occasions that the castle's residents looked forward to.

As a teacher, he had generally disengaged from school celebrations; as headmaster, there were different expectations. He needed to know what was going on, so that he could decide what to turn a blind eye to and what needed him to apparently be a moderating presence. It was all very tongue-in-cheek, but the illusion of a little rebellion gave an extra _something_ to the after-hours activity that the students – and staff – were undoubtedly planning.

He smiled as he strode through the corridors. In his first year or two in the role it had irked him, but the sense of fun was infectious. More recently he had embraced it all, grateful that this was the extent of the plotting he was involved in these days. Throughout the day made his usual checks, while also assiduously avoided certain areas. For example, the house-elves knew that a little carelessness in locking up the larders would be overlooked, even if some of their contents ended up the dorms and common rooms after hours. The castle ghosts would be present during this evening's feast, and Severus made a point of thanking them personally for their contribution to the seasonal atmosphere. The Bloody Baron would deal with Peeves; while a certain amount of extra supernatural activity was tolerated, even expected, the poltergeist was aware of the consequences of crossing the line.

By contrast, he avoided the greenhouses and herbology workshops, and was conspicuously absent in the potions department. While his own classroom was well warded, he was aware of a certain amount of activity in Horace's domain - and that was just the teachers. As for the students, there was always what was now referred to as the "Weasley element" in every year, although thankfully the combination of mischief, brilliance and blatant capitalism that Fred and George had personified had never been present again in such potent concentration. The most difficult part was the conversation with Argus Filch, who's opinion of student high jinks was as unwavering as it had ever been, and saw no reason to make allowances, whatever day of the year it was.

The mood was cheerful in the Great Hall for the feast. Hagrid's pumpkin patch had been denuded, and grotesquely carved lanterns bobbed lazily under a ceiling that replicated clouds scudding past a gibbous moon, adding an air of the macabre to the occasion. The elves had surpassed themselves, and at the end of the meal he dismissed the students with a dire warning about behaviour and school rules. The younger ones trailed out, giggling in their confidence that their stern headmaster didn't have a clue.

He returned to his rooms to remove his teaching robes, and timed his arrival in the staffroom to allow his colleagues time without the boss putting a damper on things. He was more tolerant these days, but it still wasn't his first choice of ways to spend his night off and had no intention of lingering longer than courtesy demanded. Hermione spotted him as he entered and made her way over to him.

'Professor, you're here!' Her eyes were bright, her face prettily flushed and her excitement at his arrival was gratifying but unwarranted considering she had last seen him less than two hours ago.

'What are you drinking?' he gestured to the glass in her hand, suspicions beginning to form.

'I'm not much of a drinker, so I thought I'd stick to the punch.'

'Hmmm.' He looked across the room and caught Horace and Pomona's eye. They were – there was no other word for it – sniggering.

'Pomona, have you supplied the punch this year again?' he asked.

'Oh, I can't take all the credit,' the herbology professor replied innocently. 'Horace helped me this year.' The pair of reprobates tried hard to keep their face straight. He turned back to Hermione, who had looped her arm through his, and was steering him towards the centre of the room.

'A word to the wise,' he said to her quietly, 'I suspect it might be spiked.'

'No!' That would be completely irresponsible.' She was clearly outraged at his allegation.

'You know the restricted area at bit at the back of greenhouse four?' She nodded, and he leant close to whisper in her ear, 'There's been a still there for years.'

'That's outrageous,' Hermione was clearly shocked. The herbology professor's moonshine was quite potent, if previous years were any indication, and he could only hope that it's only function was to get the staff a little tipsy. Hermione abandoned him and bore down on the two delinquent professors to give them a piece of her mind. Severus chuckled to himself, helped himself to a glass of brandy – as he knew what was in it and had a reasonable chance of predicting its effects – and ensconced himself in one of the battered, but comfortable armchairs next to the fireplace.

He whiled away the next hour or so in light-hearted conversation, until the laughter became a little more raucous. It was time for his retreat – he had tactically arranged to make the patrols of the corridors himself tonight. He hadn't been paying much attention to what had been going on behind him, but as he made a final round of the room to say goodnight, he gathered that there was a game of "truth or dare" underway. He groaned, fearing that whatever was in the punch was designed to make this interesting. If there were any embarrassing revelations, it was best the headmaster wasn't there to hear them.

'What is your biggest regret?' he heard the potions master ask, and was surprised to hear Hermione respond.

'I'm not going to tell you that!'

'Okay, my dear; a dare it is!' Horace crowed, and the others gave a little cheer. He couldn't resist standing at the door to see what would happen next.

'We dare you to … now what could we do?' Horace conferred with his colleagues for a few moments, then turned back to Hermione with a wide grin. 'This will do I think. We dare you to do something you've never had the courage to do but always wanted to.'

Severus cringed – wrong dare to give to a Gryffindor; if it was something they wouldn't normally have the courage to face, it was likely to be outrageous. He watched as Hermione rose from her chair and walked over to him. Oh no, he thought, she's going to slap me – she certainly always wanted to when she was my student. She stood in front of him, looked him directly in the eye, and raised her hand. As he closed his eyes to braced himself, her hand slid round his neck and he felt the pressure of her lips against his own.

You could have heard a pin drop. 'That's torn it,' he heard someone mutter. He opened his eyes and looked down at her as she pulled away. Her eyes were wide with shock and she brought her hands up to cover her face, which was rapidly turning scarlet.

'Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry,' she breathed. His mind raced, aware that the whole room was tensed waiting for his reaction. There was no way he was going to respond as though her intention had been to flirt with him.

'Congratulations, Miss Granger,' he drawled calmly. 'If your greatest wish was either to surprise me, or shock your colleagues you would appear to have succeeded.' He turned his focus to the room.

'Well, I don't think my night is going to get any more interesting than this, so it would seem like a fitting point to bid you all goodnight.' He felt some of the tension go out of the room. He didn't suppose anyone was buying this, but they were relieved that their mercurial boss wasn't about to lose his temper. He looked over directly to where the real culprits were.

'Pomona, Horace?' They looked a little shamefaced. 'My office, first thing tomorrow.' He waited just long enough to register their assent, and left.

The next day was Saturday, and the school schedule was a little more relaxed. Having already dealt with his two errant teachers, treating them to a reprise of the old Severus Snape in full withering sarcasm mode, he was reading quietly in his study when there was a knock at his door.

'Enter,' he responded. The door opened, and Hermione came into the room, hesitating at the threshold before committing herself and closing the door behind her.

'Professor, can I have a few moments.' She was clearly nervous, but she looked him straight in the eye, her chin up and shoulders back. Gryffindor, he thought, with an inward smile.

'Certainly,' he gestured towards the chair across the desk from him.

'I don't want to waste your time,' she said as she crossed the room and sat primly in front of him, 'so I'll come to the point.' She took a breath. 'How much trouble am I in?'

'Why would you be in trouble?' He tried to sound reassuring. He had expected a conversation with her, but a part of him was amused to keep her in suspense a little while.

'Sir, I – I kissed you.' She said it almost defiantly. 'Last night. In front of everyone.'

'I know,' he said. 'It was quite the highlight of my day.' Her face flushed, and he decided to put her out of her misery. 'Hermione, I don't hold you responsible. You are not in any trouble, and I am not reading anything into the situation.'

'But my behaviour – it was completely inappropriate.'

'Perhaps,' he agreed, and she looked down at her hands, 'but less so than that of your colleagues who have been distilling moonshine since last term, then used that and a combination of potions to spike the punch. A modified form of veratiserum, and a concoction of Horace's designed to lower inhibitions, I believe.' She looked up at him again, and he saw outrage and embarrassment vying for dominance.

'Hermione, I appreciate you are embarrassed, but you were taken advantage of. I have dealt with Horace and Pomona already, and you should be receiving an apology from them both.' He eyes were actually filling up – he wasn't sure whether to go for friendly, or keep things professional.

'I'm so sorry, sir.' Hot tears spilled over and she attempted to dash them away. He rounded the desk and handed her a handkerchief. He gently took her elbow and led her to the more comfortable chairs in front of the fire. He poured her a glass of water from the jug on the side table took a seat opposite her while she composed herself.

'Hermione,' he spoke softly to her. 'Last night was unfortunate, but I believe was intended as fun. Your colleagues may have been deficient in sense, but they are without malice towards you.' She kept her eyes averted, and twisted the handkerchief in her hands.

'You surprised me, but you didn't humiliate or embarrass me.' He smiled, 'I should be flattered that a lovely young woman would consider kissing a cantankerous, middle-aged man like myself.' She did look at him again, and was clearly uncomfortable.

'I appreciate your courage in coming to see me. I appreciate the opportunity to clear the air, but I think we can draw a line under it and move on.' She nodded gratefully. 'So, we're agreed, then?

'There are some other matters though,' he continued.

'Oh?' Her eyes widened.

'I thought we'd agreed that you call me Severus,' he said, smiling at her. She relaxed.

'Of course. Sorry… Severus,' she tried out the name, and attempted a watery smile. 'You said there were some other things.'

'Just one more,' he said, 'and it's completely unrelated to our previous conversation.' He couldn't believe he was about to do this, but in for a penny, he thought.

'Would you like to go to dinner with me?'

'Oh,' she said, blushing furiously. 'Like "going out", going out? Like a date?' He nodded.

'Like a date,' he confirmed. 'I know we work together, and the last thing I want is things to be awkward, so there is no pressure at all if you think it will be blurring boundaries. I quite understand.' She didn't reply for a moment, and he realised that he'd put his youngest staff member, who was already mortified to have to face him today, into another embarrassing situation. Just as he was about to attempt to diffuse the situation, she made her response.

'I would absolutely love to,' she replied with warm, heartfelt smile and relief flooded through him. Suddenly the rest of the term was looking better.


End file.
